


to the moon

by 00321



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crack, Fascists, Hitler, Homophobia, M/M, Mussolini - Freeform, Nazis, Questionable Subject Matter, World War II, loveeeeeeeeeeeeeee, mostly on hitler's part, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00321/pseuds/00321
Summary: It is late April, 1945. Adolf Hitler receives a call from Benito Mussolini.
Relationships: Adolf Hitler/Benito Mussolini
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	to the moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is not meant to be taken seriously. World War II was obviously a horrendous tragedy and Hitler and Mussolini were repugnant people. 
> 
> TW: briefly mentions suicide

Adolf Hitler is not having a good day. It’s barely ten in the morning, and he’s already found three dancing crocodiles in his bathtub. Sharp-toothed crocodiles who grin at him with grotesque yellow teeth and razor sharp eyes. On all three occasions, Adolf runs screaming out of the bathroom. 

To top it all off, the war is not going very well. Germany is on the brink of defeat, and Italy has already lost. Even worse, Benito Mussolini is dead. There’s the newspaper on his desk, the gored-up face of his old friend hanging upside down from a gas station. Adolf had almost thrown the newspaper in the fireplace in disgust. Nobody,  _ nobody _ , treats Benito Mussolini that horribly and gets away with it.

_ What if _ , says a nagging voice in the back of his head,  _ what if that’s what’s going to happen to you when you lose the war? _

“I am NOT losing the war!” he screams at himself. Several seconds later, the door bursts open and an annoyingly-faced soldier sticks his head in and Adolf wants to slam the door shut to cut off his head.

“Herr Hitler, is everything alright?” the soldier asks, mock concernedly. 

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Adolf screams loudly. The soldier obliges obligingly. 

Adolf sits down and thinks of the Mussolini. A moment of silence for his friend. 

Down the hallway, a dark shape is creeping out of the bathroom. No, not creeping. It was doing a little crawling Irish jig.

Adolf stares morosely out of his dirty window and contemplates falling asleep for a long long time. 

The sky outside is blue like Aryan eyes and a sun so blond it hurts to look at is climbing to heaven’s zenith. 

Adolf yawns. The dark shape, now revealed to be a crocodile, approaches him with a big silver fork and an evil grin. Adolf eats the crocodile raw. 

The phone rings. 

“Hello?” he screams into the phone, his mouth still full. “This is Adolf Hitler. This better be important, or I will personally dice you into tiny cubes for my mushroom soup.” 

“Calm the fuck down, Hitler,” comes the lazy, arrogant voice from the other side. “It is I, the great and only Benito Mussolini. How _dare_ you disrespect me by talking with food in your mouth.” 

Adolf gasps loudly. “Duce! I thought you were dead!” 

“Don’t try to change the subject!” the Mussolini snarls.

“I’m so sorry,” Adolf shrieks, “but this morning I  _ just  _ saw the newspaper that says you’re dead and hanging upside down from a gas station. They kicked you a thousand times in the head. Those people are fucked up.”

“Oh, that,” the Mussolini accuses. Silence. Just as Adolf begins to get uncomfortable with the silence, he speaks again. “A minor inconvenience. I unhung myself and uninjured myself. Now, Adolf, you have been a loyal friend to me. Let us meet in the garden behind your house at midnight tonight. We shall run away to the moon together.” 

Adolf is stunned into silence. 

“I will think about it, Duce,” he inquires. The Mussolini grunts, sounding disappointed but not all that surprised. 

“Call me back at eight o’clock to inform me of your decision,” the Mussolini effuses. 

He hangs up without a goodbye. 

Adolf stares at the phone and sobs. 

//

To go to the moon, or not to go to the moon? 

Adolf likes to think he does not give up easily. A mild inconvenience like defeat and decapitation should not deter him from his ultimate goal of making the whole world an Aryan Lebensraum. 

_ Defeat is bad _ , says the voice in his head.  _ They will kick you in the head and treat you horribly and hang you upside down from a gas station like the Mussolini _ .

_ But the Mussolini survived _ , he argues, this time silently so that the annoyingly-faced soldier would not come in and ruin the mood. 

_ Ha, you really think you will ever be as great as Benito Mussolini? _

_ No, of course not. That would be self-aggrandizement. That’s heresy. _

_ Yes, exactly. The Mussolini is God. _

_ Wait, what? _

He decides to go to the moon, in the end. A commander had come in and told him that Germany has already been defeated, and surrender is only a formality at this point. 

He decides to go to the moon because there are no non-Aryan people there, except maybe the great and only Benito Mussolini. Is the Mussolini Aryan? Adolf does not know and finds that he does not care.

He decides to go to the moon because there is no threat of defeat there, no threat of humiliating himself in front of the great and only Benito Mussolini.

The prospect of spending the rest of his life with no one but the great and only Benito Mussolini sounds like heaven. Adolf decides he will get in the way of a meteor if the Mussolini dies before he does. 

//

At midnight, the Mussolini waits for him in the garden amid all those dead and withered roses and begonias and snapdragons and bloodflowers. He wordlessly pulls Adolf into a rocketship.

Liftoff.

The rocketship hurls into space and crash-lands on the moon. 

The Mussolini untangles his hand from Adolf and walks off straight to the other side of the moon, leaving Adolf to stare after him tearily. 

//

Existence on the moon is lonely, Adolf thinks. He should’ve taken the chance and shot himself in the bunker. He went to the moon, thereby abandoning his country, and what for? A Mussolini who wouldn’t even look at him, much less breathe the same air as him.

There does not seem to be air on the moon. Maybe he is dead, Adolf thinks idly.

Days and nights cease to matter. Adolf sleeps in the rocketship. Day and night, the six-legged Moonians with spindly telephone pole eyes and neon fiberglass mouths crawl. They circle the rocketship and make threatening noises. Adolf shivers in the rocketship from fear and cold and loneliness. 

He wishes the Mussolini were here. The great and only Benito Mussolini. Il Duce would know how to deal with Moonians clicking fiberglass pincers and considering having you for their first meal in three millenia. 

Why did the Mussolini abandon him?

Adolf is sad and cries. 

//

On his second minute on the moon, Adolf could not bear his Mussolini-less existence any longer. He goes to the other side of the moon to find the Mussolini and convince him that they should live together. 

He finds the Mussolini yelling at passing asteroids, giving emphatic speeches with wild hand gestures. The Mussolini is berating the asteroids for not being patriotic enough. 

“Good day, mein Duce,” apologizes Adolf. The Mussolini immediately turns around with imminent murder in his eyes. 

“Get out of my sight,” he gushes. “I regret bringing you to the moon.” 

“But why?” Adolf insinuates.

“Because,” surmises the Mussolini, “you are a bigoted piece of shit who killed millions.” 

“I’m sorry,” snickers Adolf. For once the dialogue tag is correct and he is not sorry at all. “Will you allow me to live on the same side of the moon with you?”

The Mussolini nods. “All the more chance to kill you.”

“Thank you so much!” Adolf chides. The Mussolini considers throwing himself in the way of an incoming asteroid. 

//

“Adolf,” howls the great and only Benito Mussolini out of nowhere, “I decided that I do not hate you anymore and I take back what I said about you being a terrible person. Call me Benito. We shall start our friendship over.”

Adolf is so happy he could not speak. 

//

The Mussolini is proposing to Adolf with a diamond ring he’d bought before they left for the moon. 

“No, it’s wrong!” Adolf giggles and runs to the other side of the moon. He wishes to see the Mussolini no longer.

No, he does wish to see the Mussolini. 

But… 

Homosexuality is bad, he reminds himself. He is in no way in love with the great and only Benito Mussolini.

Adolf wonders what it would be like to go on a date with the Mussolini.

He runs back to the Mussolini, says yes, and immediately regrets it, for it proves that he is a Jew and a Communist. 

//

“Will you take this man in death for the rest of your death?” rages one Moonian. The Mussolini has tamed them and now they are docile as oranges. 

“Yes, I do,” Adolf requests. 

The Moonian turns to the Mussolini and repeats the same question. Mussolini nods stiffly. 

To celebrate their wedding, they eat the sun together. The Mussolini wants rhubarb sauce on it and Adolf hates rhubarb sauce. Adolf wants fire ant jam on it and the Mussolini hates fire ant jam. 

“Maybe we should get divorced,” responds the Mussolini casually and callously, like a psychopath.

“No, Duce -- I mean Mussolini -- I mean the Mussolini --” Adolf congratulates. 

“This is it,” the Mussolini squeaks. “You don’t know my name. What is my first name, huh, Adolphus Hitler?”

“B… B something,” Adolf demands. Fuck, he knows this! He knows the Mussolini’s first name. Think, Adolf. “B… Bullshit!”

The Mussolini’s facial expression tells him he’s incorrect. 

“We are getting divorced,” says the Mussolini, and he walks away.

//

Ten year later the Mussolini comes back.

“Let’s get married,” he simpers. “No homo.”

“Yes, let’s,” Adolf dissents. 

They get married and finish eating the sun. It is sweet and savory and muy sabroso. Adolf piensa que debe comer más objetos del cielo. 

Adolf still does not know the Mussolini’s first name.


End file.
